


cupid got me in a chokehold

by teamfreeawesome



Series: all i want for christmas is... you? [3]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Famous, Angst and Humor, Christmas, Crack Treated Seriously, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Pining, Pre-OT3, Tyson Barrie/Ridiculousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-24 06:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13207740
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teamfreeawesome/pseuds/teamfreeawesome
Summary: The feelings are fake, the pining is fake, and his boyfriend is fake. Well - he's not a fakeperson. Nate is really, definitely real. But, like, the boyfriend bit is fake. Probably. Maybe.





	cupid got me in a chokehold

**Author's Note:**

> SO. I think there's Nate/Gabe/Tyson on the horizon, but to be honest, any actual plan I had for this series has 100% gone out the window. 
> 
> All family members are made up fake people because I don't really like writing about fame-adjacent characters. 
> 
> Title from 'Chokehold' by Aiden Grimshaw.
> 
> Disclaimer: No harm was intended by the writing of this. I don't, in any way, equate these fictional characters to their real-life counter parts.

Nate takes Tyson to see his extended family for the weekend. The snow is crunchy underfoot, and the wind whips around them viciously as Tyson struggles with his suitcase, in addition to the multitude of presents he’s bought for Nate’s family. He shivers, the wind sliding icily over his exposed neck as he bends down, and wrinkles his nose.

“Nate,” he whines. “You should have put a scarf on me.”

He doesn’t want to, like, whinge, but it’s just that he’s so cold, and Nate looks really cosy in his thick, woollen scarf. Tyson kind of hates him a little bit. Maybe if Tyson moves in closer, Nate might share his scarf. It’s basically his best-friend-duty to save Tyson from hypothermia and potential snow-related death, anyway.

“I’m not your mom,” Nate says, rolling his eyes. “You should have put a scarf on yourself.”

Which. “Outrageous,” Tyson says. “That is outraging. You could have suggested, when you saw my poor, naked, defenceless neck, that I went back for a scarf.”

“I’m sorry. I was too busy carrying _all_ the bags to notice you weren’t wearing a scarf,” Nate says. He scowls, and Tyson really, very definitely doesn’t want to kiss the corner of his mouth. Nate is not adorable. He’s the _worst_. “I’ll pay more attention next time.”

Smirking, Tyson pulls Nate in, and smacks a kiss to the side of his head.

“Good.”

Nate grumbles, pushing Tyson away and wiping at his face, but he’s not fooling anyone. Tyson can see the smile tugging at Nate’s lips. He’s such a fake-grump.

“At least carry this, so I can knock on the door,” Nate says, but Tyson notices he hands him the lightest bag. “Uncle Rob will probably help us get it all into the house properly.”

“Uncle Rob is my favourite,” Tyson says.

Uncle Rob has the coolest moustache. It’s a handlebar moustache, and he waxes it into curls at the ends. He always does the coin-behind-the-ear trick with him and Nate, too, despite them being like. Adults, now. And, it’s not that adulthood sucks, but. It does.

“Don’t tell my mom,” Nate says, laughing a little. “She’d stop feeding you all those cookies.”

“No,” Tyson gasps. “She’s _definitely_ my favourite. I never said anything different,” he adds, narrowing his eyes menacingly. “Right?”

Nate snorts.

“We all know I’m your favourite, so this conversation is completely pointless,” he says, knocking a boot affectionately against Tyson’s. “I’ve been your favourite since the dawn of time.”

“True,” Tyson says, because it is. “Don’t go getting a big head about it, though. Your mom’s cookies make her a strong contender. You’d better be nice to me, or you might slip down to second place.”

Nate just rolls his eyes and knocks firmly on the door.

“Whatever, dude,” he says. “Like that would ever happen.”

 

//

 

Uncle Rob does help them with the bags, though Tyson’s not sure that stuffing them under various surfaces counts as helping, as such. He also pulls a quarter out from behind Tyson’s ear, which. He knows it’s just a trick, but it’s still totally awesome.

“We’ve put you in the back guestroom,” Uncle Rob says, smirking at them both in a way that makes Tyson think he’s missing something. “Furthest away from everyone else, but try to keep it down if you can, anyway, just in case.”

“We’re capable of being quiet,” Nate says, meeting Tyson’s questioning gaze and shrugging. “We’re not exactly going to be throwing a rager in your back bedroom.”

It’s not until they’re in the room itself that understanding starts to dawn.

“There’s… only one bed,” Nate says.

He’s blushing, his cheeks a furious pink. Tyson wants to touch the skin there. Wants to know if it would be hot under his fingers, and –

Look, shut up, okay. Tyson’s never claimed that he was _subtle_ about his feelings. Not that he has any feelings. Because he doesn’t. Tyson’s a hollow shell of feeling-less nothing, and nobody can say he isn’t.

“Nate,” Uncle Rob says, one eyebrow twitching judgementally. “We’re not under any illusions that you two don’t share a bed. Just, try and keep it down, eh?”

“Oh, we’re not -” Tyson starts, but Nate stomps on his foot hard enough to make him grunt with the force of it.

“We’ll keep it down,” Nate mutters, studiously avoiding eye contact with both his uncle _and_ Tyson. Which. Rude. “Can we just… go downstairs and stop having this conversation. I think it’s aged me ten years.”

Laughing, Uncle Rob claps Nate affectionately on the shoulder.

“Alright,” he says, heading towards the door. “I’ll see you guys downstairs when you’re ready. Grandpa’s watching hockey in the front room, I think. I’m not sure about everyone else. Try not to have too much fun up here.”

He throws one more amused look over his shoulder before he leaves, pulling the door shut behind him with a lascivious wink.  

The wink seems to hang in the air for seconds after the door has closed, weird and obvious to Tyson, until Nate coughs awkwardly and shuffles his feet.

“I’m sorry about Uncle Rob,” he says, and –

Look, Tyson’s not going to lie and say that it wasn’t massively awkward, but. He knows what’s going on here, and he’d like to prolong it. It’s like one of those Hallmark movies that he and Nate watch sometimes when they don’t feel like going out. They watch movies, drink wine, and cry. It’s cathartic. But, if those movies have taught him anything, well. He’s going to have to pretend to be in a relationship with his best friend, and play his part well enough that it continues to fool Nate’s family, all for reasons that probably won’t make any sense, but – It’s not like anybody will be watching for the _reasons_. It’s going to be awful and horrible, and also the best thing that Tyson’s ever experienced. He’ll get to hold Nate’s hand and kiss him under strategically placed mistletoe. They’ll have to sleep in the same bed, and maybe –

“I’ll go and explain the mistake,” Nate sighs. “I can’t believe this. You were here last year. You’re here every year. Why they think we’re in a relationship this year in particular, I don’t know.”

“No!” Tyson half-yells, the word out of his mouth before he even registers thinking it. “No. Let’s pretend. They’re happy, right? This is making them happy?”

“I don’t -”

“You know they’ve been on your case about dating,” Tyson presses. “Your mom literally had to shut the kitchen door in Uncle Rob’s face at her summer barbeque to save you from their questions, but he just kept talking through it. They’re happy. You’re happy. Where’s the problem?”

“This is literally the most stupid idea. We’re not in a movie. It doesn’t end in mistletoe and wedding bells, Tys. What happens if I want to actually date someone?”

“Then we break up,” Tyson says. His heart is thumping so loud in his chest, he’s surprised they can’t hear it downstairs. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Plus, you get a Christmas without matchmaking. You know how your Great Aunt Amy gets. She’ll be trying to set you up with every person she’s ever met, even if they’re, like, sixty-five and balding.”

Nate shudders.

“Fuck. _Fuck_ ,” he mutters. “Look, just – _fuck_. Okay, Tys. Fake-date the fuck out of me.”

And, okay, Tyson absolutely cannot complain about the lump in his throat, even if it’s hard and horrible and difficult to swallow around. He’s made his bed now, and he’s going to have to sleep in it.

 

//

 

Nate’s grandma is cooking when they get downstairs, but stops rolling out pastry long enough to wrap them both up in a big hug. She always makes Tyson feel like he’s ten again, hanging out at Nate’s grandparents’ house after school.

“You brought Tyson,” she says, pinching Tyson’s cheek affectionately with flour-covered hands. “Good to see you, honey.”

They’re barely in the room a minute before she presses them into helping, Tyson cutting out the pastry for the mince pie bases, and Nate placing them into the greased tray. The kitchen is warm, and smells like baking. In the background, the radio is playing Christmas songs, and Tyson feels fuzzy at the edges. A little out of sync with the universe, in the soft, warm cradle of Nate’s grandma’s kitchen.

“So, what have you two been up to, then?” She asks, adding some cinnamon to the mince pie filling. “I haven’t seen you for a few months, at least.”

“Tyson is trying to win the decorating competition again,” Nate says, grinning. He elbows Tyson gently, knocking against him affectionately. “Right, Tyson?”

“Oh?” Nate’s grandma asks.

“There’s a guy who keeps trying to sabotage me,” Tyson explains. “His house looks awful, absolutely covered in all this tacky junk, but the committee might decide that it’s quantity over quality.”

“He’s not trying to sabotage you,” Nate sighs, rolling his eyes. “He’s just decorating his house for fun. You’re the one who’s concocted this whole dramatic backstory and motive for him.”

And –

Look. Tyson knows that Nate thinks he can be kind of ridiculous, sometimes. It’s just that, here, in this moment – here, in Nate’s family home, as he pretends to be what he desperately wants to be - it feels like a gut punch. His stomach feels gross and twisty, and it’s hard to swallow.

“I -”

“Oh dear,” Nate grandma says, looking between the two of them. “Nathan,” she adds, her tone sharp.

“Grand _ma_ ,” Nate whines. “It’s not – don’t make a big deal out of this.”

Frowning, Nate’s grandma dusts her hands off on a stray tea towel, and gestures at Nate to follow her.

“Keep an eye on the pastry that’s in the oven for me, honey,” she says over her shoulder as she ushers Nate out of the room.

They don’t go very far, but Tyson’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to be able to hear them. He doesn’t want to eavesdrop, but it’s hard not to. Nate’s grandma sounds furious, scolding Nate in a hissed kind of whisper.

“What are you doing?” She asks frostily. “Nathan? This decorating competition might not be a big deal to you, but it’s a big deal to your boyfriend.”

“Grandma,” Nate says. “I know it’s a big deal to Tyson, but it’s getting ridiculous now. It’s making him _stressed_.”

And –

Tyson knew that Nate thought he was ridiculous sometimes, but hearing him say it with his very own mouth… it’s like a sucker punch to the belly. He wants to throw himself out the kitchen window and disappear into the wilderness for a million years. Then he’ll never have to hear Nate say it again.

“I know you’re worried about him,” Nate’s grandma says, and it sounds softer. Warmer. “But you’re not going to make him any less stressed by dismissing his concerns. If you support him through it, honey, you’ll both come out the other end just fine. Relationships are about give and take, and supporting each other, even if you think the reason that your partner needs your support is just a little bit ridiculous. It’s not ridiculous to _them_. To your boyfriend. And you know that, when you’re having problems, or are worried about something, that Tyson will be right by your side. Right, honey?”

“Right,” Nate says. “I know -” he continues, but Tyson can’t hear the rest because the oven timer goes off.

He’s just fishing the pastry out of the oven when Nate comes back into the kitchen and wraps his arms around Tyson from behind. His hands feel big and warm through Tyson’s sweater, and his chin just a little bit sharp as it presses into Tyson’s skin.

“I’m sorry,” he says into Tyson’s neck. “You’re not ridiculous.”

“I am,” Tyson says, because he _is_. “I am.”

“No,” Nate says. “You’re not. I think you’re amazing. I always think you’re amazing, even when you frustrate me. We’re gonna make sure your house beats Gabe’s if it’s the last thing we do. He’s a conniving bag of dicks, and he won’t win.”

“ _Nathan_!” His grandma says, from her place in the doorway. “Language.”

“Sorry Grandma.”

“Hmm,” she says, but she’s smiling. “Right, who’s going to help me fill these mince pies?”

She corrals them into their different kitchen positions, but it’s done with a soft kind of satisfaction, affection warm in her voice. Tyson, placed at the end of the production line, is charged with putting the pastry lids on the filled mince pies. Nate fills each one, and every time their hands brush he looks up at Tyson and smiles. He looks so fond that Tyson feels a little bit sick.

Fuck.

 

//

 

Dinner is loud, like it always is. Tyson seems to forget just how many relatives Nate has until he’s stuck in Uncle Rob’s small dining room with them. It’s nice, but also kind of intense. Tyson knows he has a big family too, and that Nate has been subjected to them in full Christmas-cheer mode many times, but it never feels quite as hectic as Nate’s Uncle Rob’s in December.

“Tyson!” Nate’s cousin, Allison, says, ruffling his hair. “We haven’t seen you in ages. Since last year, probably. How are you? Nate treating you well?”

Tyson grins up at her, and leans into her hand. He feels all of seven years old again, hanging out at Nate’s and begging for scraps of cookie dough from Nate’s older cousins.

“Of course he is,” Tyson says, laughing. “He’s my favourite.”

Allison pats his cheek softly, and smiles.

“Gross,” she says affectionately. “Nate,” she continues, calling across the table. “Tyson’s being gross and cute about you.”

Nate grins, and puts the gravy boat down on the table, before coming around to press a kiss to the side of Tyson’s head. His lips are soft. Warm.

“He’s always gross and cute,” Nate says. “It’s what I like about him.”

“Eww,” rises around the table, before everyone starts laughing.

“I think it’s lovely,” Nate’s grandma says, looking smug.

“You would,” Uncle Rob says, but grins at them both. “Make sure to keep it down later, boys.”

“Robin!” Nate’s grandma admonishes.

Uncle Rob just winks at them, and waggles his eyebrows. Flushing, Tyson ducks his head. God, he’s such a fucking _mess_. It’s awful, being here, in the warm, welcoming embrace of Nate’s family, when it’s all based around a terrible, secret, fake relationship.

 

//

 

They finally escape upstairs after all the food has been eaten, and all the presents opened. Nate’s room feels like an oasis of quiet after the sea of noise downstairs. It feels cooler, stepping across the threshold, and Tyson lets the quiet wash over him.

He strips to his boxers whilst Nate is in the bathroom, and slides under the covers. He messes around on his phone, checking his emails and texting his brother nonsense, until Nate appears in the doorway, his cheeks flushed with warmth and alcohol. He grins at Tyson, and it looks sloppy and warm. It’s awful and everything Tyson has never allowed himself to want. He –

He _wants_. He wants to tug Nate into bed, and touch the flushed skin of him with shaking hands. Wants to kiss his way over the stretch of Nate’s body. Wants to lie with Nate, his gaze softening and eyelids drooping until they both drift off into a soft, dreamless kind of sleep. Wants to do nothing more than tangle his fingers with Nate’s. Wants it _desperately_.

Instead, he watches as Nate undresses, and swallows hard. He wants to cover his face with a pillow and whimper softly. It’s like a scene from a movie, so terrible and lovely that Tyson can’t look at Nate directly without it burning his eyes out of his head.

The bed dips as Nate slides in next to him, and he feels so warm next to Tyson.

“Light out?” Nate asks, and his voice is soft.

“Sure.”

Nate switches the light out, and slides further down into the bed. Tyson’s breathing sounds so loud in the dark. It’s silly. Tyson’s shared a bed with Nate before. He doesn’t know why it feels so different this time. Look, he knows that he should probably say something (knows he should have said something years ago), but. The sheets are warm, Nate is at his back, and it’s so quiet except for their breathing. The room is dim, just the warm glow from a streetlamp outside seeping in through the gaps in the blinds. Tyson’s toes are touching clean cotton, but he wants to shift, like he’s asleep and can’t help it, until he’s touching warm skin.

He feels like he’s spent too long wrapped up in Nate, his eyes and mouth and smile refracting off Tyson’s skin until even the soft sweep of his breath feels like a caress. He wishes he felt brave enough, here, the guest bed soft beneath him, to say something.

It’s just that the air feels still. There isn’t anything but him and Nate in the bed, and Tyson can feel Nate’s warmth so strongly. He feels more aware of Nate than of his own body. It feels like if he breathes to hard, Nate might blow away. Like, if he turned over, Nate might not be there anymore.

It reminds him of a book his mom used to read him when he was little. A fairy tale. Every night, in a cold, stone castle surrounded by ice, a woman lies in bed, and every night, someone climbs in next to her. She knows she can’t light a lamp. That she isn’t allowed to look. Isn't allowed to know who lies next to her in the dark. She knows instinctively that it will break the spell in exactly the wrong way. And – that feeling, that desire to look when he knows he shouldn’t –

That’s how Tyson feels, in this bed with Nate. In this moment, if he says anything, if he _breathes_ anything… it will break the spell.

 

//

 

He wakes up to the smell of coffee.

Light is just starting to filter in through the blinds, a wintery spark of dawn casting grey shadows across the room. Just barely awake, Tyson’s eyelashes feel fused together, the strands sticking together as he blinks. Next to him, drinking from a mug that might actually be bigger than his head, is Nate. It feels like Nate’s throwing out heat, the warmth of his body seeping under Tyson’s skin, and Tyson can feel sleep tugging persuasively at him.

This side of sleep, even the air feels slow. Nate is all muscle, heat and comfort, and Tyson wants to sink into the warmth of him and doze until noon. Instead, he makes a grumpy sound, and sits up.

“Where’s _my_ coffee?” He asks, as he kicks at the covers.

“Nowhere,” Nate says, sipping at his coffee. He’s got the newspaper in his lap, and he turns a page smugly. Tyson hates that this is something he wants to wake up to forever. “When you’re a billionaire, you can pay someone to bring you coffee in the mornings. Until then, you’re on your own.”

“I’m a guest!”

“You haven’t been a guest here since you were about six,” Nate says, letting out a soft huff of laughter. “You’re _family_.”

“Maybe,” Tyson smirks. “But what would your grandma say if I told her that you made your boyfriend get his own coffee?”

Pulling a face, Nate opens his mouth to retort, but gets interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Are you decent?” Nate’s grandma calls from the other side.

“It’s like she heard me,” Tyson mutters to Nate, who sputters out a laugh. “Yes, we’re decent, I promise,” he calls.

“Oh good,” she says, as she opens the door. “I hate to disturb you boys,” she continues, raising a quelling eyebrow when Nate snorts. “But I need to you to run to the store for me. I would ask Robin, but I’m not convinced he’s sobered up enough since last night.”

Nate makes a whiny noise and sinks further under the covers. His ankle knocks against Tyson’s, and it’s like a shock of heat under Tyson’s skin. God, he hates everything about this whole situation.

“Why can’t Allison go?” Nate asks.

“Because I’m asking you,” Nate’s grandma says. “Now get to it. You’ll want to go now before it gets really busy.”

She winks, pats the end of the bed affectionately, and pulls the door shut behind her. As soon as she leaves, Nate lets out a long, mournful groan, that has Tyson laughing softly.

“It’s not that bad,” he says.

“It’s the worst,” Nate says, and presses his face into Tyson’s collar bone, which –

It feels like his heart almost stops. Nate’s breath is warm and slightly damp against his skin, and it’s enough to make Tyson’s palms sweat.

“Uh,” he manages to get out.

“Don’t make me,” Nate whines.

“If we don’t get up now, she’s only going to come back,” Tyson says. “Plus, she’s right. If we go now, we’ll avoid the worst of the crowds.”

“Don’t be sensible at me right now, Tyson.”

Grinning, Tyson pushes Nate off him.

“Well, I do want to look at the decoration section of the store, too.”

“I knew it!” Nate groans. “That’s gonna be hideous if it’s busy. Worst bit of the store at this time of year.”

“Exactly,” Tyson says, heaving himself out of bed. “Nate. Get up. C’mon. If you don’t, I’ll tickle your feet.”

“Okay!” Nate says hurriedly. “Okay, I’m up. No tickling.”

“No tickling,” Tyson agrees, and heads to the bathroom.

 

//

 

Okay, so look. Just.

So maybe Tyson kisses Gabe. Yay, or whatever. Except – and look, Tyson _knows_ , okay, so just. Don’t judge.

Tyson stumbles across him in the supermarket. Nate’s in the milk aisle, and Tyson’s snuck around to the decorations to have a look if they have anything he hasn’t got and –

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Tyson asks. “Are you _stalking_ me?”

Because, there’s Gabe. Of course. With all his shiny, golden hair. Horrible, shiny, ridiculous hair. And he has the gall to sigh, like Tyson’s the problem here, and not his terrible, horrible cheekbones that could practically take an eye out. It’s just irresponsible, is what it is.

“No,” he says, and it sounds resigned. “No, I’m not stalking you. I just happened to be here, in this store, at the same time as you. Not everything is a scheme, Tyson.”

“Aha! So, _some_ things _are_ a scheme, then. I knew it.”

Tyson steps closer. Gabe smells like pine and a hint of sweat, and it’s absolutely not a good combination. Tyson definitely doesn’t inhale more deeply than normal, shut up.

“This is exhausting,” Gabe says. “I don’t know how to prove to you that I don’t want to ruin things for you, or whatever it is you're worried about. I’m just trying to live my life.”

“Oh yeah?” Tyson says, poking Gabe in his, very-firm, probably-chiselled-from-some-kind-of-precious-metal chest. “Why don’t I believe you?”

Gabe scowls, and pushes closer, crowding Tyson until he’s backed up against some reindeer hats.

“That’s _your_ problem,” he says. His eyes seem to catch on Tyson’s mouth, and he blinks. Licks his lips. “Not mine.”

“I -” Tyson starts.

“Yeah?” Gabe asks.

There’s a pause, a moment of quiet hanging in the air, and then suddenly Gabe’s mouth is on his. He has no idea who moved first, but Gabe’s mouth is hot and warm and kissing Tyson. Gabe kisses like he’s hungry, hard and urgent and a little bit soul-destroying. It’s amazing and earth-shattering, and –

And –

 

//

 

Nate drops the milk in the decoration aisle, and it spills everywhere. His shoes are soaked, and his bottom lip keeps trembling.

Tyson has no idea what he’s supposed to do.  

**Author's Note:**

> let me know if i need extra tags !!!


End file.
